


The Art Student

by nico_peppah



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: M/M, Short & Sweet, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nico_peppah/pseuds/nico_peppah
Summary: Season one compliant one-shots about what goes on at those art parties..
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	The Art Student

**Author's Note:**

> Tension between Sir Henry and Benedict made at least 75% of my daydreams today. Thanks for reading!

Sir Henry Granville announced to the general audience of artists, “consider me posted in this very spot until dawn” and Benedict briefly wondered if this party too would continue well into the waking hours of normal society. The host kissed the models graciously, both the hand of the curvy opera star and that of the toned ballet dancer, clearly in his prime. 

“You both look beautiful tonight,” he said, “Let us begin.”

Sir Henry gave Benedict, a confident smile and motioned him forward to an easel alongside his own. In his open shirt of white linen and charcoal spotted pants, he looked ever the image of Bacchus. The wine stained lips, the tan of his calves even the very disheveled look to his curled blonde hair made him appear all the more reckless and wild. He looked well with that flush to his exposed skin. 

The attic was hot and humid, with a chilling breeze that entered through a small window somewhere every once in a while. The wine flowed freely and the cigarette smoke seemed to hang in the air, floating from one artist to the next in an ancient dance. Benedict openly acknowledged his inexperience in Henry’s corner of the art world, knew that he mad much to learn as a man, but left his title at the door as easily as many of the other artists in the room. Henry seemed to have inspired many an aristocrat in the natures of sensuality and freedom.

The second Bridgerton son intentionally stood while his teacher spoke to him and peeled off his own shirt, his belly button purposefully aligned with Sir Henry’s forehead, the bare expanse of masculine muscle and soft dark hair noticeably close to Sir Henry’s face.

Benedict took pleasure in seeing his teacher take a swig of wine, very much effected by the display of flat stomach and low trousers. The man had only teased him in the very same manner last week. It was utterly captivating and Benedict knew it. Something inside him burned deliciously at the fire in Sir Henry's gaze.

“Right. Bridgerton. I'll allow you to mimic me this time, I take it as a compliment.” Henry said, twirling a vine of charcoal in his fingers. "Shall we begin?"

The red wine was tart and perfect for Benedict’s mood. He was feeling curious and not at all sweet. There was a buzz in the air that lit something in him. His breath came out hot and his sketches took him right to the most sensual and intimate of touches. Pose after pose, Benedict was drawn to that which he could not acknowledge in the world of the ton. The heat of attraction and the thrill of pleasure in its most ancient state.

He drew entangled limbs where shapely legs met the muscled form of masculine thighs. Blonde hair on pale forearms lifted in delight, Soft touches where hands whispered against intimate flesh. The time passed without any notice. Every once in a while Henry would pass him a cigarette. Benedict existed in a state without thought, or worry, simply form and shape and line. Oh, it was a heavenly place, indeed.

“More wine?” Sir Henry offered, but Benedict could not hear a thing whilst looking at the latest pose Henry's models had assumed. Pressed together in a romantic tangle, they looked very much willing to expose their base natures. Here. In front of a group of artists. While Benedict drew it. What fresh hell had he stumbled into.

Was it truly so very late at night? Internally his ego growled in frustration. He had to finish this series. Any one of these invitations could be his last and he couldn't give up now that he was so very close to getting a perfect likeness of the opera singer.

With a mind half on the trousers that had now grown smaller and half on his art, he smudged a beautifully curved line across the page. The opera star moaned once more, a soft but noticeable mewl as she arched in pleasure. This latest pose was a take of moving art, he guessed.

Henry laughed at his clearly vexed student and asked once again if some wine would help any personal affectations he suffered.

"Will wine really take the heat out of that?" Benedict whispered all too truthfully.

The models had for all intents and purposes dissolved into each others arms. Benedict had not mistaken the heat in the room after all. In all sense though, two pitchers of wine shared between himself and Sir Henry, should have taken care of an abundance of need. But it hadn't. This party so far had been just as arousing as the first. But Benedict really wanted to finish that series, so he stretched out his arms above his head, shook his hair and retreated back into that state of form, shape and line. 

Little did he know how much Sir Henry craved him in that moment.


End file.
